I sometimes struggle with getting head – finding it hard to get out of my comfort zone when I don’t feel any element of my own submission. But when he tells me ‘I want to taste you,’ it is not submissive. He’s not begging me for a lick that I may or may not deign to give him: he’s issuing a command. In the same way as he’s issuing a command if he tells me ‘bend over’ or ‘take off your knickers’ or – holy fuck this happened recently and it still makes me so horny I squirm – ‘squeeze that cock.’ Uttered in a breathless rush just before the grunt as he comes.

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If you’re not British, you might not be familiar with Marmite. It is either:

• a delicious brown substance created during the brewing process, which you spread on toast with butter before having a mouthgasm OR
• diarrhoea brewed in the anus of Beelzebub.

For me it’s the former, for others it’s the latter. I pick Marmite because not only is it a great example of something that has divided a nation (their literal slogan is ‘you either love it or you hate it’) but also because there is no moral value in either liking or disliking Marmite: you’re not a better person if you choose to try it. However, you are a bit of a dick if you try to sneak it into someone’s breakfast without them noticing.

Pretty much all sex acts are like Marmite. Oral sex? Some love it, some don’t. Probably a larger group of the former than the latter, but whatever. Likewise hand jobs, using sex toys, doing anal, bondage: any act that two or more people can take part in.

Here’s where sex acts diverge from Marmite: sometimes you really want your partner to try something. No one really cares if I like Marmite or not. It won’t break my heart if Jon Hamm announces, on our wedding day, that he won’t be eating any of the brown stuff. Sex, on the other hand, is something you can enjoy with your partner, and so if you have a particular kink and your partner’s not keen, that can be pretty gutting. If Jon Hamm tell me that he really hates spanking, I’ll be very upset (as well as surprised, tbh, given how much he loves spanking in all those dreams of mine he’s shown up in).

Anyway, given the Marmite nature of various sex acts, I can see why people often ask me the following question:

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Allow me to answer the question on everyone’s lips: what on Earth is this for?

When I first had a look at a Doxy Skittle – at Eroticon this year – I asked the boss of Doxy. He said: “Well, what would you use it for?” to which I naturally replied:

“Butt stuff.”

For confirmation, I took a picture and emailed it to a bloke I like with the subject line: “Butt stuff?” and he confirmed: “Butt stuff.”

Last week I got hold of one, and it sat on my bedside table, occasionally whispering temptingly to me until it was all I could do to grab the nearest willing bloke and cover him in lube and enthusiasm. Then on Friday night I got to use it and… holy shit. That is definitely at least one of the things you can use it for.

Here comes the usual caveat about how I don’t do sex toy reviews. Other people do them way better than I could, which is why I run the Sex Fairies thing (to let other people try out toys), and why so far I’ve only really reviewed the Doxy massager (love of my life). I’m only writing about this Skittle thingy because I love the Doxy massager so much that I wanted to see if any other Doxy toy could work the same kind of magic. If you want to know the details of a toy: what it’s made from, how big it is, how it compares to others, all that jazz, then you need to go to an expert – Cara Sutra has a review up with more info, and she knows her stuff.

So yeah, if you want all the technical details, go there. If, on the other hand, you want to know how to grind out a sweaty, desperate orgasm by shoving something really hard into your ass, then here’s my two cents.

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It took me a long time to work out what subspace really was. When I first started going to kink events I heard so much chat about it – how people would go spacey and woozy during a beating, on a blissed-out high caused by the pain. How afterwards, their dominant would wrap them in blankets and bring them coffee or Coke, and they’d recover slowly, having the fuzzy feeling kissed and stroked away by wet lips and warm hands.

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